


Within Our Lifetimes

by ladytiresias



Category: Fire Emblem: Soen no Kiseki/Akatsuki no Megami | Fire Emblem Path of Radiance/Radiant Dawn
Genre: F/F, Fantastic Racism, Post-Game(s), Pre-Relationship, Racism, Wordcount: 500-1.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-23
Updated: 2014-10-23
Packaged: 2018-02-22 09:06:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2502230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladytiresias/pseuds/ladytiresias
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They will drag their people to progress behind them, for both bear all the stubbornness of royalty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Within Our Lifetimes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LittleLinor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleLinor/gifts).



> Written as a pinch hit for [usedempyrealthunder](http://usedempyrealthunder.tumblr.com)/[LittleLinor](http://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleLinor/pseuds/LittleLinor) for the Summer 2014 round of Nagamas. Also, because she's a rad friend who deserves nice things.

“What you have done here is truly stunning, Your Majesty,” she says after the conference is over, glancing at the banners you pointedly put on display before it even began: the Crimean banner, that of Gallia, and the banner bearing your own family’s coat of arms.  You cannot see Micaiah’s face, but there is more than a hint of real admiration in her tone, and you are pleased.

“Please,” you say, “just call me Elincia.  Elsewise I worry that our conversations will only amount to a tedious back-and-forth of _Your Majesties_.”

Micaiah shifts her footing -- a somewhat precarious move, given the sheer volume of fabric, furs, and trinketry involved in her ceremonial garb -- and looks at you, smiling.  Her gaze is golden, with all the eye-drawing allure of the metal itself.  It is, you think, a useful attribute to have as a monarch.  “Elincia,” she says, and again you are pleased.  “But as I was saying -- this is truly wonderful, what you have accomplished here.”

“All I did today was drag a scrap or two of grudging acknowledgment from some of my countrymen -- only as much as I dared to hope for, in truth,” you add.  

“Grudging, certainly, but even mere acceptance and coexistence with the Laguz nations is far more than I dare to hope for in my own country,” Micaiah says, resting a hand on the back of the high-backed chair where you sat for hours, “far more than I could ever hope for, even within my own lifetime.”

“Even should it take decades,” you say, “it is something worth struggling for, even if my people drag their feet.”

Micaiah looks at you again, and this time there is something bitter in her smile.  “Yes,” she says, “decades.”  She looks away, running her fingers along the bone-white wood of the chair’s back.  “I love my country so very much,” she says eventually.  “It has been my home for so long.  So many of the people I love are there -- and yet, within the hearts of even the kindest of my countrymen lurks hate and ignorance so virulent and frustrating that it still shocks me, sometimes, to hear them speak so passionately to me of the sub-human menace.”  She shakes her head, and that silver hair of hers sways, shimmering in counterpoint to the royal blue and cloth-of-gold of her robes.

So much of her, you think, is eye-catching.  

“I remember hearing of the unrest you faced here, not long before the start of the great folly of a war my people were dragged into embarking upon,” she says.  “I will tell you a secret sadness of mine, Elincia Ridell Crimea.”  Looking at you, she continues, “I step ever so gingerly and subtly in my decrees, speak softly if ever of the Laguz, and turn a blind eye to some of the uglier speech of my countrymen, for I dread that if I ever stood as firm against their hatred of our cousins as you have against that of your people, I would face my own Ludvecks, and it would not go so well for me.”  She says so baldly, matter-of-fact.  If she has felt heartbreak over this, the scars have healed, and now there is only acceptance of it in her eyes.  

You search for the right words.  “I understand that you speak the truth,” you finally say, “and in facing our duties, we must always confront realities even as we pursue our ideals,  But I will tell you, I feel perfectly certain that Daein will progress far more quickly toward our shared ideals with you at its helm than it ever would without.”

For a moment, her expression falters -- and then she beams at you.  “Thank you ever so much, Your -- Elincia,” she corrects herself, red-faced.  She extends a hand to you, palm up.

You take it.  “Yes,” you say warmly, smiling.  “ _Your Elincia_ , gladly.”  You take her hand, and as she laughs at the jest, you are, again, pleased.


End file.
